


A Pirate Captain, A Dessert, and a Conspiracy

by CD64



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CD64/pseuds/CD64
Summary: Miles recognized her. How could he not? Her faced was sketched on numerous wanted posters plastered throughout ports and seaside villages and her notoriety spread to the inland- the Ice Queen, one of the most dangerous pirates of the seas. Just that, the Ice Queen, for none knew her real name- some say that she was never born but sprung from the depths of the ocean itself to strike fear in the hearts of sailors.  Deadly and fierce, a juxtapose to her deceptively beautiful physiognomy.





	1. A Chilly Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InkuisitivSkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkuisitivSkins/gifts).



> An AU that was so easy to picture the soldiers of Ft. Briggs in it. Cinnamon and Gunpowder by Eli Brown was like reading about Olivier, Miles, and Buccaneer having adventures out in the seven seas.

Miles was quietly enjoying his dinner-or what passed as dinner for the staff and workers. A mysterious broth the color of light ash with a sheen pale of oil on its surface only broken by the pieces of potatoes and carrots floating in it. A side of bread was also given to accompany the soup in the hopes to mitigate the bland taste of the soup. A stark contrast to the vibrant food he saw being dished out onto the fine china in the next room as one of the maids entered the room. The heady smell of the food intoxicated his mind for a minute, making his mouth water. Miles could easily separate the medley of smells infiltrating his lungs. The thin slices of potatoes baked to a light crisp with cream and dashed with parsley. The slabs of meat that had been prepared with meticulous care had now been cooked to perfection, releasing a tantalizing buttery garlic aroma; ready to be served with its side dishes and sent to the guests of the hotel. No satisfaction of his cravings would be met as he saw the waiters taking the food in the final swings of the door as it settled in its place.

It left him to set his eyes on the interloper of his solitude, who had opened a crate and began to pull out more bottles of red wine imported from Creta. He watched her struggle for a few minutes, as the bottles she had pulled out began to precariously teeter in her arms.

“Need help, Scheska?”

With a small nod of affirmation from her, Miles braced himself on the table to push off and quickly hurried over to help her before a bottle slipped from her arms. With a relieved sigh escaping her as Miles set some of the bottles on the table, she turned to face him.

“Thank you so much, Miles!” she exclaimed with profuse gratitude. “The last thing I needed was for Mrs. Walter to berate me for a broken bottle of wine or worse…” At this she dropped her head and clasped her hands to stifle the beginnings of small tremors. “Be let go.”

Miles knew that her position was not secure as she had already incurred the wrath of the housekeeper from simple mistakes in her training, another error would surely result in the termination of her employment. And another job of this caliber would surely not be given to her in her future if potential employers new that she had been terminated from this job. It was a prestigious one that was coveted by many to work for the upper echelons. And without it, she would be unable to aid in the care of her mother who was in a parlous state of health.

“No worries,” he assured her, gathering half the bottles in his arms. “Now, let’s get these to the kitchen before Mrs. Walter comes looking for you.”

Letting out a quick shudder at the thought, Scheska swiftly gathered the remaining bottles and led the way back into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. The kitchen was a beehive, each worker busy buzzing around the room ensuring the jobs assigned to them were done with impeccable precision and effort. The second they laid the wine bottles on the small table, the waiters- gathering like vultures on a fresh carcass- quickly grabbed the bottles. With resounding pops that came from pulling the corks out, the waiters poured the wine into decanters and went on their way back into the dining room to ease the thirst of the rich patrons.

Miles had turned back to return to the employees’ dining room to finish his meager portion when yells and screams flooded the air pilfering the gaiety and frivolity of the night A heavy ball of dread pitted itself in his stomach and the small hairs on the back of his neck rose. He and the rest of the staff in the room froze in their movements, all looking at each other unsure of what was to come next. Miles remained rooted to the spot for several seconds, taking in the panicked and frightened looks of the staff-it took him several seconds to register that the screams had come from the dining room. Insatiable curiosity had him walking to the door that led to the dining room and peeking inside, a few braver ones of the staff joined and resulted in multiple heads poking out the door to look at the commotion inside. It would have been a funny thing to see the staff do, had the situation not been dire.

The biggest man- Miles had ever seen- stood, arms crossed at one end of the long table glaring menacingly across to Miles’ employer, Lord Raven, who had remained sitting in his chair at the head of the table; his hands tightly clenched on the wooden arms of the chair. The mysterious man’s head was shaved except for the middle which was gathered into a tight, neat braid. His mustached was styled in a way that had no origin in Amestris and one of his hands wasn’t a hand but a hook. The other patrons and their wives were in the process of being tied up and Miles recognized a few of the faces in the crowd. They were some of the other senior board members of the Ouroboros Trading Company. Deeply focused on the ongoing events in the dining room, none of them noticed that several more men had made their way into the kitchen from the staff entrance in the back until a few of the maids had let out a few screams. Miles turned around to the face of an unknown man who quickly tackled him into the ground. Quickly diverting the swing of the arm, Miles knocked the man back and quickly rose up-only to be subdued by another one of his comrades.

Thirty minutes later ended with Miles with a split lip and sitting on the floor with the rest of the staff and patrons with his wrists tied tightly behind his back. A few of the men had returned into the dining room to their accomplices, a quick exchange of whispers to the behemoth of the bearlike man ended with one of the men making his way back to the entrance hall. A quick flick of his tongue across his lip ending with regret as the searing sting of his wound made his lip throb.

The bounded people on the floor and the burly, well-built men who stood guard over them remained at an impasse. Miles felt his heart race at this quietness as he and the rest of them waited to see what was to become of them. The silence was broken by a brisk clopping noise which turned out to be coming from the boots of the newcomer, dressed in sharply polished black boots and trousers, a white shirt, and a blue long-coat the color of midnight with a sword attached to her hip. Miles let out an astonished gasp and he wasn’t the only one.

Miles recognized her. How could he not? Her faced was sketched on numerous wanted posters plastered throughout ports and seaside villages and her notoriety spread to the inland- the Ice Queen, one of the most dangerous pirates of the seas. Just that, the Ice Queen, for none knew her real name; some say that she was never born but sprung from the depths of the ocean itself to strike fear in the hearts of sailors. Deadly and fierce, a juxtapose to her deceptively beautiful physiognomy.

Because those wanted posters didn’t do her justice. Not at all. Her hair was long and radiant as it cascaded down her back ending in to a curl at the bottom and it was parted so that one eye was covered. Her one visible eye was cerulean like the ocean that she sailed her ship in. Her lips were a rosy pink, full, and luscious. Miles now understood why the men who had been marooned by her in the ocean in little dingy boats, who could only watch as she ransacked their ships laden with silk, spices, and other treasures, spoke with reverence of her beauty. They hated her for what she did to them, but none could deny her that.

He watched as she marched with brisk determination towards the table. At her nearing, the man with the hooked-hand stepped to the side, dragging with him the chair that was placed at the end. She didn’t slow down and used the chair as a stepping stool to stand on top of the table, continuing her march until she stood in front of Raven.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Lord Raven furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and then in apoplectic rage when some of the senior board members raised their eyebrows in surprise at the possibility of any association between Lord Raven and the Ice Queen. It wouldn’t do to have his reputation besmirched by this criminal. “I have no idea of what you speak, now leave my house at once!”

“Forgotten about me already?” The Ice Queen continued, one of her hands settling on the hilt of her sword to begin a rhythmic tapping. “Let me help you with that.”

Ceasing her tapping, she crouched down and lifted the part of her hair covering her other eye. He couldn’t see her face, but Miles watched after a few minutes of Raven studying her countenance, a spark of recognition erupted in his eyes. The color from his face disappeared- making him look like a bloodless corpse- as she released her hair letting it fall back to its previous position. “Y-you.”

“Yes, me.” The Ice Queen had risen back and resumed her tapping.

“Y-you’re alive? H-how?” Raven questioned, his eyes whirling across the room as if the answer would be there or looking for an escape route. Miles watched as Raven’s eyes rested on her again, small tremors beginning to pass through his body as if he had laid eyes on the devil himself.

“Through sheer stubbornness, I should say.” By the look of it, she was getting tired of him and drew her sword. It was inscribed with small etchings and designs, but Miles couldn’t see the details of them from where he sat. “But now, onwards to our unfinished business.”

The sight of her sword pushed Raven into action as he rose from his seat and tried to escape, it was a futile effort as one of her men stepped forward and swung a fist that left Raven sprawled in front of her.

“Ah, thank you, Henschel.” The Ice Queen calmly hopped down from the table, her eyes focused on her prey. Raven stood up and in one last attempt to escape- decided to strike at her. It was in vain. With deadly speed, she stopped his hand by running her sword through his arm, a little bit below his wrist. His painful cries and shocked screams from some of the women pierced the night. “The second I heard that you would be having a little feast for your friends in your ‘humble’ seaside abode, I changed sails. You will be the foundation for what’s to come.”

Pulling her sword from his arm, she launched at him with a downward swing. A fatal blow that left him to gasp for several minutes as a puddle of blood quickly pooled underneath him. Everybody watched as he took his last dying breaths, some fainting at the gruesome sight. A quick flick of her wrist sent her sword swinging through empty air to clean the red from her sword, ending with her wiping the remainder on her dark trousers before placing it back into the scabbard at her hip. With her affairs finished, a nod of her head sent half her men to begin a quick, rough pillaging of the house. “Now let’s see what this moldy ass was going to have for dinner.”

The Ice Queen grabbed the chair that Raven had previously occupied and settled herself before the silver tray on the table. To Miles, it was jarring to see her kill a man and then a minute later calmly place a napkin on her lap to begin her supper; the body of the man behind her not even cold yet. She sniffed at the food underneath the lid and after sampling it she quickly spit it out. “Tch, pathetic excuse for food.”

Everybody watched as she quickly went through some of the courses, none of them pleasing to her palate. Sharp increasing breathes to his right, drew Miles’ attention away from the pirate captain. It was Rose, who was looking down at her uniform that was covered in splatters of blood from the Ice Queen’s attempts to clean the sword. Earlier in the day, Rose had received a sharp reprimand from Mrs. Walter and through it all she remained stoic and calm, but now she looked to be having a breakdown. Miles thought it understandable. When minor whimpers spilled from her lips, Miles quickly shimmied over to her before the noise she was making drew the ire of the pirates.

“Shh, it’s ok, Rose,” he gently whispered. “Don’t worry, it’s just spilled wine.”

She jerked her head in acknowledgment, repeating in small murmurs what he said as if to make it true. “Just wine, i-it’s just wine.”

He returned his attention back to the pirate captain. She had picked up one of the flaky, pastry balls from the dessert tray. Ones that were carefully dusted with nutmeg and cinnamon and had come out of the oven as warm as the place they originate from. She placed it in her mouth and chewed carefully. Her uncovered eye widened in surprise and amazement. Miles knew she had pierced into the gooey center of thick, sweet syrup that laid buried in the center.

“This is-,” she began, but frowned as she tried to find the right words to describe the dessert. “Buccaneer, what’s that saying of yours go?”

It was the giant man with the hooked-hand that replied. “Better than Truth’s shit?”

“Yeah, that one. Although, I doubt anyone’s shit would taste good.” She smirked, turning to the staff. She quickly made her way towards them, stopping in front of Rose who had settled a bit from the small lie Miles had given her. “Now, would any of you like to tell me who made that pastry?”

A few moments of silence followed before a brave waiter replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The chef, ma’am.”

She quickly sauntered over to him and swung a kick into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As he curled in on himself, she returned to her previous spot. “The next person who addresses me as ma’am can ask my first mate how he lost his hand.”

She gave a warning glance to the bounded crowd. “Now then, who made them?”

More minutes of silence followed before she drew her sword poised and ready to attack her closest victim which happened to be Rose. Miles had no choice. As best as he could with his hands still tied, he shifted himself in the small space between Rose and the sharp sword. “It was me.”

She lowered her sword and studied his face. Despite being partially covered with the dark goggles that were on his face, her sharp gaze still unnerved him. She tipped his head up with the flat side of her sword, the cool metal underneath his chin making Miles wonder if this was the final minutes of his life. The men that had left had returned, sweaty and red-faced from all the heavy lifting. “We’re all done, sir.”

Her focused remained on Miles. Sheathing her sword again, she gave a sharp nod and turned away. “Let’s go, our business is finished here.”

Miles had a minute moment of relief before the bear of a man named Buccaneer stood before him. Miles feared for a second that she had given him the signal to finish him-instead, he threw him over his shoulders like a burlap sack of potatoes and followed behind his captain.

Miles couldn’t believe it. He was being kidnapped by pirates and oh, Ishvala help him.


	2. Do Or Die

A few days had passed, and Miles still found himself in one of the cells underneath the deck of the ship. Or what he assumed to be days, could have been mere hours or a week or two since he had been taken. The only contact he had was with Buccaneer, who would bring him his meal and who turned out to have a somewhat cheery demeanor, and another that came to empty his chamber pot. He would perish soon, of that he was certain. For the food was horrible, making him reminisce about his soup that he had been forced to leave unfinished. The more he thought of it, the more he cursed himself for not appreciating the bland soup for the feast it was. There was nothing to do in his little cell and Miles felt he was going mad. Time passing by like slow drips of molasses. To pass the time, he would occasionally hum a tune here and there from the songs his grandfather would sing to him but even that eventually grew tiresome. He carded through memories in his mind, some with his family and others with some of the friends he had made at his job. Since there was nothing occurring in his vicinity, it was better to retreat in the cache of memories in his mind.

He also thought of the female pirate captain. Questions about her that formed in his mind, answers that he doubts he would find. As in, who was she _really?_ He didn’t buy that hogwash of a myth of her being born in the ocean unlike the mass. Then there was the mystery of the ‘old’ business between Lord Raven and the Ice Captain. Shocked as he was to see her real identity, which the aged man had known, he also said that he been surprised at her continued existence upon this earth. Had he done something to try to end her life? Most likely. Miles thought they had had previous business contacts that went sour. Or maybe they had been lovers? Lord Raven was a bachelor who lived the life of one so maybe it was one of his spurned conquests. From what he could draw from her personality, Miles thought that unlikely, but he was just drawing possible theories. What could drive someone to break into someone’s home and kill them in cold blood?

The creaking of someone unlocking his cell door made him rise from his pile of hay- that passed as a bed- to see the newcomer. It was Buccaneer, sans his plate of food.

“Good evening, Miles,” Buccaneer greeted, stepping into the cell.

“Is it?” Miles replied, sarcasm heavily laced in his voice. “I can’t exactly tell from here.”

He knew it was utter stupidity to be antagonizing the man but at this point, Miles didn’t give a fig anymore. Better to die soon rather than succumbing to the fits of crazy that would surely develop within him from the forced isolation. Instead of straightening in upright indignation, Buccaneer let out a few deep chuckles- Miles thought it sounded more like roars coming from a bear.

“Just came to give you this, is all.” He dug into the pocket of his trousers, his massive hand bringing out a small parchment of folded paper. “From the captain.”

Miles grabbed the note and flipped it open. He took notice of her penmanship, it was rather startling. Her writing was neat, and her lettering had sharpened, fine edges like her sword, that no doubt also came from quick flicks of her wrist as her hand cruised through the parchment. It reminded him of some of the writing of the elites, same kind of elegance but with less flourish.

_Dear Mr. Miles,_

_Welcome to the Northern Briggs. I hoped you have settled to sea comfortably. I will get straight to the point and say, that I hope to enjoy more of your fare. Let me lay out a proposal for you: You will, every Sunday cook a meal for me, and me alone, with the ingredients available in this ship. The only rule being that you are not allowed to repeat a dish. In return, I will be gracious enough to let you keep your continued existence, alive and well until the next dish is served. After a time, we may also discuss about the improvement of your quarters. Should you refuse my proposition: you will find yourself sent home, whole or in pieces will be determined in the moment, depending on the severity of my disappointment._  
_How does that strike you?_  
_In anticipation,_  
_The Captain_

Apparently, Ishvala had no mercy on him at all and Miles inwardly cursed everything he could think of- including the captain and Buccaneer as well. Especially Buccaneer, as he saw a knowing grin spread across the man’s face. He was clearly enjoying Miles’ misfortune.

“Well, time to show you, your new work space, Miles.” With a hardy clap on Mile’s back that almost sent him buckling to the floor, he followed the man out the cell. Come to think of it, Miles hadn’t even given the man permission to use his name, that overreaching bastard.

He was led to the galley. The very sight at what they passed for a kitchen made Miles laugh. The few kitchen knives they had were dull and old, the whisk bent here and there, and the only pots were heavily scratched and without proper care. How were these people even alive? Ishvala didn’t give him mercy, she had cursed him. Good and hard. He was doomed, might as well jump ship before she unsheathed her sword- that seemed like a sound plan. Though she seemed like the type to jump ship after him just to get a few swings to make good on her word.

“She’s not serious, is she?” Miles turned to Buccaneer who remained at the entrance. “Tell her that it’s impossible without the bare minimum which looks like you guys don’t even have.”

At this, Buccaneer face twisted in annoyance. “Why don’t you go to tell her? I’m not a pigeon messenger.”

“Fine,” Miles retorted with more bravery than he felt. “Take me to her.” 

It was a brave and idiotic idea. With every step he took and his irritation ebbing, Miles was beginning to lean towards stupidity. He felt like he had singlehandedly sentenced himself to the gallows, as he took the final steps to rise to the deck taking his first whiff of clean air in days. It was so clean and crisp with a salty twang in the end. On both sides of the ship all he saw was ocean and sky and it was breathtaking. The last streaks of sun painted the sky in a blend of pinks, oranges, and yellows and all those colors were reflected on the surface of the sea. The idea of being so far from civilization should have scared him, with only the laws established on this ship for order and yet it filled him with a small sense of wonderment.

As they strode across the deck, many of the other sailors stopped their work for a quick second to glance at the new addition to their ship. All their staring unnerved him, and Miles was grateful once again for the googles resting on the bridge of his nose.

Buccaneer gave two short knocks on the door that lead entry to the captain’s cabin.

The captain, after a brief glance to see who it was, allowed them entry into her chambers. It was thrice the size of his cell, but it was sparsely furnished. A window on the wall across from him that gave a spectacular view of the sunset; spliced into three sections to give one a roundabout view of the sea. One of the few indulgences was a shelf with an assortment of books and knick-knacks. One of them caught his eye, it was a wooden carving of a lizard and not just any lizard; it was a yellow-spotted one, native to the harsh, deserts of Ishval. The animal could be easily identified by its horned appearance and its red-brown coloring; it had a notoriety for being deadlier than the scorpions that also scurried beneath the sands.

Besides the well-sized bed, which was firmly secured to the floor, and several heavy-looking trunks, there was a table with multiple maps and logs that were currently being placed away by Henschel and another man. They waited until the two had left before she gave a nod of assurance to Buccaneer, who left as well.

At the sound of the door closing, she took a seat on one of the chairs that surrounded the table and jerked her head for him to sit down as well.

“Well?” She prompted., crossing her arms and watching as he took his seat. “Do you accept my proposition?”

“No,” Miles replied frankly. A small part of him relishing the sight of her widening her eye in surprise at his sheer audacity to negate her offer. It died the second she shrugged an ‘oh well,’ and reached for her sword, which swiftly changed his mind. “I have a few conditions myself.”

He released a mental sigh of relief as she released her grip from the sword. Looking at him in a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and blatant curiosity.

“I need parchment,” Miles began. At this point, he really didn’t have much of an option but to comply. “So that I can keep note of what ingredients are available and at my disposable.”

The Ice Queen nodded her head in agreement. “Very well, is that all? Surely, you didn’t interrupt my meeting just to ask for paper?”

Miles took a good look at the captain, well, apparently now _his_ captain as well-but not by his choice. She was far younger than he had previously thought, around the same age as him. Maybe younger, older, who knew-he wasn’t going to ask her. She wasn’t a patient person, as the prolonged silence was getting to her. Probably getting irritated that it seemed like he was wasting her time when she could be doing whatever captains of pirate ships do when not attacking trade ships. He genuinely didn’t want to be in this ship. He just wanted to go home, and that possibility was quickly shrinking.

“How did you know I wasn’t lying about making the pastry?” He blurted out. “I could have easily just said that to stay your hand.”

“I didn’t.” She gave a small shrug. “And even if you weren’t the one, I have my sword.”

Her answer was given with such a blasé attitude, as if it were the most logical thing to do. A quick swipe of her sword and done. Miles now understood where the deadly part of her infamy came from-she was worse than an angry snake. They had fallen into another bout of quietness as they sat across from each other.

“What was that pastry called?”

Miles was startled out of the silence they had been sharing.

“It’s called _heramji_ , _amji_ for short. The chef didn’t know what to do with the _jelahs_ , the fruit to make the filling with, so he handed them to me. Lord Raven had requested an ‘exotic’ cuisine for the first night of his gathering.”

“And you let him take the credit for your food?”

Miles shrugged. “He’s a good friend and it was a mutual exchange.”

She raised an eyebrow, a silent prompting for him to continue.

“It was better for me that no one knew that I made them.” The answer that he gave her was inadequate, judging from the unsatisfied look on her face, he sighed focusing on his clenched hands on the table. When had he balled them into tight fists? Miles didn’t know how she would react but frankly, he was getting tired of all this and wanted to leave the ship- he doubt that was going to happen. Even less so when she saw what he was, when another thought came to him. “How did you know someone else made the pastries from the other dishes?”

“There was a striking difference in the culinary skills,” she explained, knowing that he was trying to distract her and yet, feeding his curiosity. “The other food was prepared by a chef of expertise all right, but it didn’t have the same level of care as the pastries. It tasted different, is all. Now, why would it have been better to keep your prowess in the kitchen hushed?”

Having failed at his attempt to divert the conversation, Miles considered whether to reveal his secret or not, he was lucky that he had been able to maintain it thus far. Again, unaware of what her reaction will be. Before he lost his courage, he straightened himself in the chair and with no delay, removed the goggles from his visage-revealing his vibrant red eyes.

Miles saw as her eye widened in surprise and the near-silent gasp she released. Her response led his mind to conjure images of the inevitable- with a sword thrust into his chest. He saw her face furrow in concentration as if he had morphed into something she couldn’t figure out. Several minutes of their stare down ended with him diverting his line of sight to the right and away from her unnerving gaze. They landed on a painting that showed snow-capped mountains with a cloudy grey background. Little flecks of white throughout the painting representing fresh falling snow.

“So, you’re Ishvalan?” She started. Miles returned his gaze back to her.

“A quarter,” he corrected, a bit perplexed at the quickness she had gathered herself so soon after his revelation; most Amestrians, which he assumed she was, would have then looked at him with disgust or pity. He still hadn’t reached a conclusion to which was worse. “My grandfather was Ishvalan, despite my family having several different bloods running through their veins, his blood runs strong in me.”

“How did you come into Lord Raven’s services?”

Miles was confounded. Where was the sword? Not that he wanted it to be his fate but-

“What? Did you think I would have a problem with you having Ishvalan blood?” She narrowed her eyes at him, easily following his trail of thoughts like fresh prints in the mud. “Unlike my Amestrian compatriots, I have no quarrel with the blood that runs through your veins, in fact, I believe it to be an advantage that you have over others. The capability to view things through a different perspective that others can’t see.”

Miles raised his eyebrows in amazement. He couldn’t believe it- that this woman, despite her fearsome reputation, so readily accepted him for who he was and not judging him for the things that were beyond his control. How many so called ‘good and law-abiding’ people of Amestris couldn’t even do that? And they called her a savage! 

It was great and all that she had a rather forward-thinking view of things but that still didn’t change the fact that she _had_ kidnapped him. Miles’ face sizzled back down into a frown-this conversation would only end with him being coerced into saying yes, he sighed.

“Sigh too much and my men will begin to think you don’t like being onboard the _Northern Briggs_.” She teased. “Now, how did you come into Lord Raven’s services?”

“My friend, the chef. Colin was able to get me hired as a gardener for the greenhouses for the spices and herbs for his kitchen. I was born in Amestris, so certificate of citizenship easily proven and as for my goggles that I always wear, they were excused for my eyes being heavily delicate to the sun. Only a few people of the staff knew and maintained the secret for me. Besides, Raven never sought to speak to any of his workers-especially the gardeners.”

She nodded, understanding the fact that some of the wealthy and upper elite thought themselves too high and mighty to speak to the workers- there was a lot of those around.

“Do you accept my proposal?” 

Miles considered her question again. Their conversation had started a babble of questions on his lips on just who she was- he’ll admit it, he was piqued. Not enough to remain in her service forever, he would still have to form a plan to escape, but enough to say “Yes, I’ll accept,” -either that or a gashing wound in his chest.

“Excellent.” A feral grin cutting across her face. “Then, I’ll leave you to your work.”

She stood up and raised her hand to him. Miles quickly gathered himself from the chair and grabbed her hand to reciprocate, marveling at how small her hand was for such a fearsome person; he felt a few callouses that came from her swordsmanship and the warmth her palm exuded that her face did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up a few Ishvalan words/terms but they are sort of in the works as well as this story. I was lucky enough to sit in a lecture/panel that had David J. Peterson as the guest speaker, the creator of the Dothraki and Valyrian languages on _Game of Thrones_. Literally blew my mind on how much I was skipping and needed in order to make a made up language but hey, I tried/trying.


	3. The First Meal

It was Sunday evening and Miles stood in front of the door to the Ice Queen’s cabin. His hands were occupied with the tray that was laden with multiple plates of fine china- obtained from their pirating- full of the food he had prepared. His ticket to his continuing existence and may it be so. After a quick mumble of a prayer, he braced the tray against his hip and gave a quick knock at the door. He steadied the tray before it teetered to the side, the last thing he needed was for the food to fall. He doubted he would be given a second chance because of clumsiness.

She opened the door and stepped away. She was dressed in a cream blouse, tan trousers, and impeccably polished black boots. Her sword was, for the first time he had seen, not adorned at her hip but against the table in which she would eat her meal- still within arm’s length. She closed the door behind him and went to sit in one of the chairs, watching as he laid out all the dishes.

Without properly thinking, he muttered to her a quick ‘ _Venzahn je denol_ ’ before gathering the tray to leave her in peace.

“What-”

“I’m sorry,” He quickly began, surmising that her problem was with what he had said to her in Ishvalan. “It’s an Ishvalan saying, translates roughly to ‘enjoy your meal.’ I meant no ill will.”

She leaned back in her chair, leaning her face against a closed fist. “How do you say, ‘let us enjoy our meal,’ then?”

Miles wondered who she was sharing her meal with. “It’s ‘ _Venzahn je denol mahlen_ ,’ not much different.”

He watched as she silently mouthed the words a few times, her lips contouring to the flow of the syllables. He lifted his eyes quickly before she noticed his staring, when she nodded in finality seeming to be satisfied with her grasp of it.

“Then, _venzahn je denol mahlen_.”

She was watching him expectantly while he stood there looking like an imbecile. “What?”

“Surely, you didn’t think I was going to eat this by myself?” She informed, jutting her chin to the chair across. “Sit.”

Miles remained rooted to his spot. “I assumed that you wanted to eat in peace.”

“False assumptions only make you look a fool.”

Oh, so he wasn’t an imbecile but a fool. Before she could think about grabbing her sword as an incentive, he walked over to the chair designated for him but remained standing. “It would be better if I left.”

“No, it would be better if you took a seat.”

“I cannot.” He insisted.

“Hemorrhoids?”

Miles let out a few splutters that she found funny as she watched his face with avid glee in her eyes.

Miles wanted to flee to his, currently ‘cozy’ cell; the last thing he wanted to do was spend more time in her presence. She was simply an unnerving person to be around. She was resolute in her decision of him sharing the meal, though-to the point of being stubborn. Then it hit him, and the thought needled his pride, a bit, at her suspicions. She brought him here in the first place but to suspect that he might’ve poisoned the food. Miles saw the slight upturn on her lips when he gave a peeved grunt as he ungracefully sat down on the chair.

“I thought ‘false assumptions make people look like fools.’” He paraphrased.

“Not an assumption but suspicion.” She corrected. “Besides wouldn’t you be suspicious?”

A knock on the door excused him from answering. It was Buccaneer with an extra plate and utensils. “He forgot to bring his own, right?” He took a quick glance at the empty space in front of Miles. “See, I told ya! You owe me some new sewing needles, Cap.”

“Tch, whatever.” She retorted. It seemed losing wasn’t something she was used to.

Miles was puzzled at what a one-hand man needed sewing needles for?

Buccaneer placed the cutlery and plate in front of Miles before hastily exiting, blatantly ignoring the silent plea that was visible on his face. Sending a quick mental cursing at Buccaneer, Miles returned his attention on the captain, who was already reaching for the pot, that doubled as a lid, of the main dish. It was fish, captured by a young sailor named Liam Roach. He owed the young man a meal. The monotonous eating of salted meat by the crew while at sea was sporadically broken by the side fishing that some of the men did to add some variety into their meals.

Miles was also thankful that they had stocked their stores before kidnapping him since they had a few precious amounts of fresh fruits and vegetables that would be become inedible in the weeks out at sea.

He had mashed and dried a potato into a powder before mixing it into a batter with a dash of honey, flour, and a pinch of salt. He coated the fish with it and cooked it until it was a nice golden-brown and splashed with a small amount of lime juice. Since the crew had pillaged some of the boxes of foods at Lord Raven’s home, he found a few cactus leaves with some prickly pears still attached. The very ones he had so painstakingly cultivated in one of the greenhouses. Extracting the juice from the prickly pears was an arduous task but he set that into a pot with some Cretan wine, a spoonful of molasses, sugar, and cinnamon stick to reduce. Flicking the knife across the cactus leaves to remove their spines, he sliced and placed them in a pot with a bit of salt to cook. Miles started cutting thin slices of onions, tomatoes, coriander, and the juice of a lime. He set that aside, concentrating on dumping an anise star on the pot that contained the prickly pear juice, gave it a few swirls around the pot and removed it. Splaying out the thick pieces of juicy coconut meat and roasted nuts on a plate, he placed it next to the bowl that contained the cut vegetables and began to make the flatbread. 

Instead of the fresh water he needed to feed the dough and was scarce on the ship, he fed it coconut water and was pleased to see that it had worked as the smells of the bread filled the room. The rice he made had attained the yellow color he sought for and placed it next to the fish. The sauce having obtained a smooth and semi-thick consistency was drizzled over the coconut meat and nuts. The slices of cactus now cooked and drained from the water were combined with the cut vegetables and mixed. The final touch to it was the slightly porous cheese that was made from a combination of sheep and goat’s milk crumbled down and giving the cactus salad a nice edge.

Miles nervously watched as she took in her meal, a little pleased that the coconut had done what he had hoped. The sauce had obtained a dark red hue that had quickly stained the coconut meat making it a magnificent clash of white, reds, and pinks as the sauce pooled at the bottom.

“Smells amazing and, definitely, looks good enough to hide something more nefarious, don’t you think?”

Miles vehemently agreed but he wasn’t talking about the food. The only sound was their cutlery as they rationed equal portions for themselves. He noticed as she began to split the fish in half that she had rather refined table manners, as if they were eating at a king’s table, an air that reminded him of several people that Lord Raven kept company with- just not as haughty or full of herself like them. That, and her manner of speech and accent didn’t match with her life as a pirate.

“You can take off your goggles for the meal, no one else is going to be joining us so your secret is safe.”

“Where are you from?” He asked, while removing them from his face.

She placed back her forkful of fish back onto the plate. Miles wanted to duck his head down and avoid her gaze-he probably shouldn’t have asked her anything. The silenced linger for a bit.

“Central.”

He was surprised that she had even answered, and he didn’t ask for further details. Miles knew he wasn’t going to get more than that.

“And what made you become a pirate?”

“Reasons,” she said, focusing her attention back on the food-ending his short and failed inquisition. Miles felt a twinge of nervousness in the pit of stomach as she finally took a bite of the meal. His heart was hammering in his chest, an uneven staccato that was not going to settle anytime soon. He watched as she hummed in approval of the fish and started to dig into the meal himself, her enjoyment as she ate, a slight balm to his tight-knit nerves. For all he knew, she could be lulling him into a false sense of security.

With her fork, she gestured to the cactus mixed with the vegetables and crumbled cheese.

“That’s _paraenje_.”

With a name to the side dish, she grabbed a small mouthful of it to try. Miles watched in tense anticipation as her face contorted into one of deep concentration, as she took in the new flavors of the food. She must have enjoyed it since she didn’t even look at him and grabbed another forkful. Waiting to see if she had any further questions but received silence again, he continued with his meal.

“Why cooking?”

Having finished his fish and _paraenje_ , Miles stopped midway into his first bite of the coconut slathered in syrup at her question. She had the same odd puzzled expression on her face whenever she looked at him.

“Why not cooking? Ishval was left a desolate wasteland.” He lowered the piece back on the plate. “After the war, Amestrians no longer welcomed Ishvalans and the ones already living there were treated like dirt. I wanted to change their view and for me that was through cooking. I was specializing in the cuisines of Aerugo when the war occurred and after, I switched to the dishes of Ishval. The last thing I wanted was the death of my grandfather’s culture to occur, for that would mean the death of its people. I started going to the refugee camps where I lived to try and gather as much knowledge on the cuisines although practice in making them was harder to accomplish as the ingredients from Ishval were difficult to come by.”

“Is that the reason for going into Lord Raven’s service?”

“Yes, despite the employment that I needed; he was the only one that held a sizeable gathering of the herbs and plants of Ishval that I could get to practice with. And what better way to learn about them than caring and growing them myself.”

At that he resumed his dinner, grabbing the slice of coconut and taking a bite of it, amazed that his idea came out better than expected. The juice of the prickly pear and the red wine had reduced into a thick syrup that was a heady mixture of sweet and sour that was complemented with the clean, crisp taste of the fresh coconut.

“Any family?”

Miles quickly swallowed the bit of dessert he had in his mouth. “Just my mother and two siblings-an older sister and a younger brother. You?”

“None.”

It has been a little over a week since he had known her but despite the short time, Miles felt that at this moment-she was lying. He did not know why, not like he was going to run off this ship anytime soon and announce to the world that she had siblings. It was beginning to irk him that he was the only one to release information of themselves. It must have shown on his face, since whatever emotions where there made her slightly smirk.

“Quite unfair, isn’t it?” She baited.

“A bit,” He responded. He continued nibbling on his fruit and attempted to ignore her smug face. Immature as it was, it obviously did not work since his attempts only ended with a giant devilish grin on her face. The only sound in the room was from the crunching that came from each bite that they each took of their pieces.

“Quit your pouting, Miles.” She began, cleaning the remaining syrup off her hands. Dropping her napkin onto the empty plate in front of her, she leaned a little bit closer beckoning him to do so too. Miles cautiously leaned forward to hear what she had to say. 

“I’ll let you know one thing.” She raised her finger for emphasis. “Just _one_ thing about me.”

Miles narrowed his eyes, he didn’t believe her. What was she playing at?

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

He was looking into her eyes, red meeting blue. Her eyes from afar were beautiful, up close they were breathtaking. She looked sincere, but he was still disinclined to ask. What question would he even want the answer to? He leaned back into his chair surprise at how far he had leaned forward.

“Did you enjoy your meal?”

If she did- that meant he got to live for another week.

“Yes.”

And with that answer, Miles felt relieved.

She tilted her head to the side studying him again. “Why waste your question on something I was going to tell you anyways?”

“Because you might’ve done the perverted thing of letting me stew over it for who knows how long, before letting me know that I’ll live to see next Sunday,” he replied.


	4. A Lily Beside The Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for falling off the face of the planet, my workload increased and I also began school, so updates will be a lot slower. Boo.

Eight Sundays later and Miles still drew breath.

With fresh ingredients having run out within less than a fortnight, he drew from any inspiration from his training that he could for every Sunday. At this point, he was running out of ideas and tomorrow would be the day he would present his next dish to the captain.

He was currently looking down at his list of remaining items that he had left. Slashes crossed the several pages in his hands as the ingredients were either used or too spoiled to be consumed. Miles pushed off the floor and got comfortable on the hammock he had been upgraded to a few weeks ago, allowing the gentle sway of the hammock to ease him into a peaceful state of mind.

He has been on the boat for just about two months and he had to admit that there were some aspects that he liked about it. The men were friendly despite their stony faces and he’ll grudgingly admit it to himself, Buccaneer was not bad as he initially thought. Although the only annoying detail about him was his corny jokes that never failed to make him groan in exasperation. He failed to see the humor in them, though the only reason he joined in laughter was because of the fits of hysterical giggles that escaped the man.

The Ice Captain was another story. Despite the rather humanistic side of her she lets herself reveal in their dinners alone, he still didn’t know much about her past. Only that she was a pirate who captained the _Northern Briggs_. She had a dry sense of humor that only appeared after a few glasses of wine that turned her cheeks a fetching shade of pink. Their dinners together were laxer than before too, as they grew more comfortable with each other.

Other than an attack and ransack of another ship owned by the Ouroboros Trading Company, the _Voracious Gluttony_ , in which he had obtained a substantial amount of ingredients, the rest of the time at sea had been uneventful.

Miles woke up the next day with his lists on the floor after they slipped through his fingers when he fell asleep. He quickly got up and gathered the papers onto the small stand next to his hammock.

Miles made his way onto the deck after his morning routine, heaving a few gulps of fresh air. He leaned on the wooden railing and took his time enjoying the color of the sea and sky. It amazed him of the many shades the ocean took, from the churning abyss it turned in the storms to the iridescent blue in the mornings with the orange glow of the sun streaking across it at sunsets.

A pair passing by greeted him as they walked by, Miles had become rather popular with the crew. After a storm had thrashed them around in the sea, the temperature was chilling. The cold seeping right to the very bones, Miles had made a huge pot of potato soup with pieces of salted meat for the men. Their dampened spirits, from the harsh weather, were quickly lifted by the warm meal and Miles had unknowingly become their hero.

“Mr. Miles!”

The happy cry came from his right and Miles saw Liam approach with a bucket in his hands. Miles looked inside and was ready to begin one of those ancient dances they used to perform centuries ago in Ishval when the harvest that season had been plentiful. Inside was a healthy-sized fish and numerous shrimp. This was a Truthsend! The gears shifting in his head, already creating the combinations and spices that he would use for the meal. 

“This is perfect,” Miles replied with gratitude. They had an equal exchange going on between them. For any catch that Miles used, he also made something for Roach as well; other men in the ship had come to him with the same intent and he had accepted a few more offers but not too many. He kept a log on all his transactions between them. The last thing he needed was to be too indebted that the work of repaying them would hinder the time he spent on the Captain’s meal.

Miles quickly went to work. He grabbed a knife to begin cutting the onion into thin slices and immersing them in lime juice to cook. He had barely set them aside when he saw the Captain enter the room, apparently to watch him work. She didn’t say anything merely stood in the doorway, lazily leaning against it.

He ignored her and continued with preparing the fish. Cutting it into slabs to be grilled. Now Miles knew what it felt like being a mouse with a hungry cat nearby. She was watching his every movement taking note of everything. Watched as he prepped the herbs and spices for the fish as he crushed, minced, and mixed to coax out the utmost amount of their essence to maximize the flavor of the dish. Watched as he grabbed the fist-sized balls of cheese that he carefully cut into the center for the perfect bits. Observed the angle he held the knife when he made incisions into the dried figs to be soaked in rum.

The heat of the newly acquired hearth was getting to him along with her prolonged staring. It was hot. A little bit too hot as he felt her eyes still on his back. He broke into a gentle sweat until he couldn’t take anymore of her staring. It was simply a bit too much, she was encroaching on his little space of work that brought him some semblance of peace on this ship.

“What is it?” He questioned, not turning around.

All he heard was a slight chuckle from her, that stilled his hands. An infuriating bout of silence followed before she finally replied. “Strange as it may sound, I have been to a theater before and seen the orchestra play. Those people who devote themselves to endless hours of practice-”

“Your point.” He interjected, glancing over his shoulder.

She merely raised an eyebrow, letting his interruption slide. Miles knew if any of her men had dared interrupt her it would have resulted in a severe repercussion-like being thrown overboard for such insolence.

“Do you think those musicians would have attained such prominence if they suffered through stutters and hesitation when the eyes of many had laid upon them?”

With her piece said, she turned and left. Miles was left alone to grumble about how the finest musicians weren’t reduced to play on instruments made of twigs and stones while Miles was expected to make the upmost quality of food without the aid of the finest culinary tools available-or even the most decent ones that held a bit of sharpness to their edges.

The sun had begun its slow descent into the waters when he walked over to her cabin with the finished meal; the beautiful weather that the day began in was being quickly replaced with dark clouds and rumbles in the distance. His quick rap on her door led to the discovery that it had been left ajar. He looked behind where a few of the men were gathered in circles playing card games to pass the time, not noticing that the door to their captain’s room was left open or more like ignored it. Miles looked back into the room and saw no one inside. Letting out a small shrug, he walked in to begin setting the dishes on the table before her arrival. The only thing that was in his way was her sword which was oddly not attached to her hip but left on the table. Placing the tray onto the table, he grabbed the sword to placed it against the chair that she usually sat in.

The pommel of the sword caught his eyes. It was old and finely crafted yet well-taken care of and ready to be used. Should he be caught, this very sword would end up being rammed into his gut, but he was curious about the etchings he had seen on them the first time he saw her with the sword. He slipped the sword from its sheath and studied the details on it, they looked familiar. He was sure that he had seen it before but was unsure from where. Miles quickly plunged the sword back into its scabbard-

A shot of realization ran through his spine, his hands tightening their hold on the sword. The roses and vines designed into the sword were easily associated with one of the most prominent families of Amestris. He couldn’t believe that the captain had one of their family swords. Miles wondered if they were benefactors that aided her or if she maybe ransacked a ship that contained one of their family members. A million thoughts were running through his head at the information that the sword brought to light.

“Don’t think that just because you have my sword, means that you have the advantage.” Her sharp words startled the rapid thoughts of his mind. Where’d she come from? He felt cool metal against his neck- yep, that was what he wanted to avoid.

Miles quickly laid the sword against her chair. “No, I doubt I would come out of the altercation alive.” He kept his voice calm and even after swallowing a mouthful of nervousness. “Why didn’t you have your sword with you?”

It was uncharacteristic of her not to have it with her when the ship could be attacked at any moment.

“Didn’t know you cared so much, Miles?” She countered, not lowering the dagger. “Why were you going through my things?”

“Not your stuff, just your sword.” He easily replied, despite being held at knifepoint. He thought she would be angrier. “Why do you have this sword?”

“Stay out of my business.” She warned; lowering the dagger and taking her seat.

Miles felt the tension leave his shoulders as he sat down. This was a new development, most of the time he pressed for answers he received curt and vague responses-never a blunt statement to stay out of her affairs. The meal started in the same routine, her looking at the prepared meal, a few questions asked about it, and then they would begin splitting it evenly amongst both.

The fish had been cooked to a nice crisp that made it possible to be stripped from the bones in delicious flakes paired with the reduced red wine sauce that was placed underneath the fillet on the plate. The rice buttered and herbed was the perfect complement to the fish. In a bowl, the shrimp were added a few minutes before he arrived with the lemon and pepper juice, sliced onions, and several spices turning them into a sour firecracker in the mouth that left a pleasant tingle lingering on the lips. The figs had a good soaking in the rum and its sweetness was countered by the cheese stuffed in them.

Miles silently ate still puzzled by what the sword revealed. He tried to remember what he knew of the family during his work at Lord Raven’s estate and even from when he lived in Central. The patriarch of the family was a renowned and retired military general. There was also the scandal of the family’s only son who had returned from combat in Ishval before it had even ended- there had been a lot of commotion in the military and the upper echelons about that event. Something about the man not being able to complete his duties as decreed by the military. Miles had to give the man some credit, he saw the atrocity of what Amestris did in Ishval and refused to be a part of such blood bath.

He remembered the visit from Alex Louis Armstrong was mostly discussions that were heavily done under closed doors with no interruptions. His build was similar that of Buccaneer, from what he recalled. The last day that Armstrong had been there, Miles had gotten a glimpsed of him from afar, the man had a frown of frustration on his face, sparkles brilliantly shining, as he entered his carriage and left the estate.

He ate another few flakes of fish, munching the food in slow chews. Miles was deep in contemplation, not noticing that she continued to look at him with increased wariness and suspicion. From what he remembered during one of the moments of light conversation that he had had with his friend, as he trimmed and helped him gather the herbs and vegetables necessary for the meals of the day, there was a connection between that family and Lord Raven. It had been a passing comment when they had been trekking back from the greenhouses to the kitchen-there was something about a flower that niggled in his mind that was somehow mixed into this memory. An unusual flower with purple and yellow streamed on the white petals.

A night lily.

Remembering the name of the flower brought clarity of the hazy memory in his mind.

_It was a crisp and early morning. The salty chill coming from the sea nipping at their heels as they walked back to the kitchens, their arms loaded with baskets of vegetables and herbs- freshly picked and ready to be prepped and cooked. The crunch of the gravel underneath their shoes a soothing sound to the silence they had allowed. Miles had been focused on the pebbles of various sizes on the path, took joy in observing and identifying shapes in the pebbles along the way. A heart, a tooth, even a dog-shaped one- if one used enough imagination. The pebble that he had picked as looking like a misshapen tree connected with the tip of his shoe, careening it off the path, passed the small strip of grass before it turned into a small, circular patch of fertilized soil that contained a single plant._

_Miles stopped at the mere sight of it. It was beautiful, the yellow and purple contrasting in vibrant shades against the white petals._

_The crunches against the gravel continued until they stopped a few feet away from him when Emerson had noticed that he was now walking alone._

_“Miles?”_

_He tore his gaze away from the flower to his friend. “Sorry, it’s just-. Fascinating flower.”_

_“Aye, it is.” Emerson replied. “It’s in memory of Lord Raven’s fiancée. The carriage that she was taking was attacked not less than ten miles away from here; seems he never fully recovered from the loss. She was the eldest daughter of the Armstrong family.”_

_Miles had heard of them. In Central, they were one of the, if not, the richest family with an affluent ancestry. In Lord Raven’s service, he caught snippets from old gossiping crones about them when they traipsed around the garden trails. Those old harpies had nothing better to do but spend their days speaking vitriol about other people behind expensive fans and false smiles. It was something that irked Miles, despite not knowing the authenticity of those rumors._

_They say that Lord Raven had a portrait of her in his study but since he never went inside besides the kitchens and his room- he never knew what she looked like._

Miles didn’t even know where to begin, there was a turmoil of excitement and fear within him. He knew that he was close to unlocking a hidden piece of her identity, the only thing currently stopping him was her eyes currently glaring at him.

Before Miles had let out the first syllable of his question, a huge boom erupted through the air unlike the distance roars of the beginning thunder. With haste, she grabbed her sword quickly tying it to her waist before running to the deck with him close behind. Buccaneer was already there a telescope in hand, silently passing it to her. A quick glance and a curse word later, she was already barking out orders to her men, who amazed Miles, at the speed and unity in which they readied themselves, alert and ready for the next orders. She shoved the spyglass into his hands and left with Buccaneer at her heels. Miles focused it towards the other ship. It was another ship from the Ouroboros Trading Company, the Indolent Sloth. Another cannonball landed closer to the ship, spewing water everywhere and jostling Miles against the rail; it seemed that the next battle of the _Northern Briggs_ had begun.


	5. A New Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buccaneer would.

Miles did not know what happened during the incursion. The heavy waves and avoiding booming cannonballs ended with him missing his footing and taking a hit against the side of his head that knocked him out in the beginning clash. Honestly, he did not know what he would have done if the men from the other ship had crossed his path: _fight or ask for help to flee?_

He was laying down in his hammock several days later, slowly swaying himself with his list of papers in one hand and the other tentatively circling the gigantic goose egg he now sported on his head.

What first was mild concern that he did not have a serious injury soon turned into several rounds of laughter from Buccaneer and the Captain that only aggravated his excruciating headache which left him disgruntled at the both them. And a little at himself, it was _humiliating_ ; he knew he was in for a bit laughter from the other crew members, already having a few in mind that would end up on the floor cackling like hyenas at the sight of him. An event that did occur the second he was able to return to the deck of the ship. After the Captain had left, Buccaneer filled him in on what he missed, the captain of the _Indolent Sloth_ had planned an attack on them before they entered the Gulagna Strait.

Miles had heard about it; it was singularly known amongst most mariners as the most dangerous water passage; even before being encased in two towering, jagged cliffs on both sides. Ships would have to weave through the large shards of sharp rocks that speared from the ocean into the sky and ones that lurked beneath the depths while simultaneously going through heavy waves that were magnified from the storm. Buccaneer had also informed him that after evading the other ship and entering the ominous passage, he had grabbed Miles and thrown him into the captain’s room which was the closest available place to heave him in without worrying that he would be thrown overboard, so that’s how he ended up with a lesser known bump on the other side of his head. The other ship didn’t chase them when they had gone too far in, their best guess was that they were hoping that mother nature would do her best to finish them off. Buccaneer scoffed at that idea, telling him that they had gone through this passage with worse storms before and with a bit of smugness and puffing up of his chest, he informed him that he was one of the few that knew how to navigate through the waters while most ships opted to go around through safer passages.

Buccaneer’s mood soured after that going deep in thought. A few questions and a bit of wheedling from Miles and he learned that ships from the Ouroboro Trading Company were being more specific and targeting them. Several months before they had raided Lord Raven’s home, they had been an encounter between another one of their ships-the _Lascivious Lust_. It ended in the destruction of that ship, Miles shared with Buccaneer that he had personally seen when Lord Raven heard of the news of the ship’s fate; any polite decorum was washed from the man’s face. Miles had thought that was the only moment he had ever seen his employer lose his composure until the night the captain came. They were one of the most notorious pirates out there but not the only ones to be selected so outright from the company.

With another Sunday coming soon, Miles was flitting through his head for what to make. They were stopping at a port in Hikoa to restock their supplies, a small country that Miles had only read about in a small footnote of a book. Sure, he was excited on what wonders of unknown culinary ingredients he would find there but most of all this was it- his chance to escape!

He got up from the hammock and ignoring the small bit of vertigo, Miles made his way to the deck. The climate was different, it was hot and humid. A sweltering heat that creeped up on him leaving the back of his shirt drenched in sweat; it was unbearably suffocating, and it was still the morning- he was used to the dry heat. This kind of weather was foreign to him, leaving him with an immense desire of jumping overboard into the water for some much-needed relief.

It was midday, sun at its zenith and blazing an inferno on their skin. Attempting to hide in the shade did nothing to relieve them from the immense warmth and Miles felt he would surely die of a heat stroke. They had anchored a few miles off the shoreline and Miles felt an overwhelmingly joy that soon enough he would step again on solid ground. The only reason he was even allowed to go to shore was chef’s privilege as he had told the captain, while yes, the men were perfectly capable of restocking the food supply without his help, they wouldn’t be able to discern which spices would be the most versatile for him to use. She, predictably, did not believe any of his horseshit- which was another bonus point to Miles for making his case when a lot of the crew was within earshot- as the sailors all waited anxiously if she either gave him permission or would assign one of them to attain the spices. Poor soul, to the one that would have been chosen, they would have been the sacrificial lamb to the others had that person brought spices that Miles would’ve declared useless. They had heard Miles lecture several times that good selection of spices yields delicious food, many of the men wondered how they had survived so long at sea before Miles’ cooking. A terse nod from her was all the permission needed, as the men all exhaled breathes of relief and unsubtle looks of happiness were shared. Any jubilation from Miles’ part was contained as the captain narrowed her azure eyes at him in suspicion, knowing perfectly well what his true intentions were; Miles simply smiled at her and walked to his quarters with a certain jig to his steps for his small victory.

Miles watched as the captain jumped off from the rope ladder into the small boat, waiting for his turn. He lowered himself onto the ladder, trepidation running in his veins stilling him for a moment. He was giddy, anxious, _nervous, thrilled!_ A myriad of emotions at the thought of escape; the chance had arrived and within his reach- all he had to do was reach that goal with a firm grasp.

“Any day now would be nice, Miles.”

Miles looked up at the outline of Buccaneer, impatience written all over his face.

“Right.” Miles let out a puff of exhalation to settle the nerves and continued his way onto the boat. He sat down, waiting for the others to join; with an attempt at an air of nonchalance, he peeked in the Ice Queen’s direction to see if he had raised any more suspicions from her. With her arms perfectly crossed, head tilted slightly, and her gaze focused to the sea- she looked utterly and completely bored. She didn’t even glance in his direction to throw him a look of vexation for holding them up, Miles knew she detested when people wasted time.

With every oar stroke bringing them close to the shore, Miles heart rate increased. The scenery of the port was quaint. Small yet busy-swarms of mariners went along their business. Men loading heavy crates into ships and boats, others hustling into the town further down for a brief respite from life at sea. The clothing of the people was a multitude of colors of toned-downed yellow silks to shiny, brown leather another stark contrast of the black and soft, pastel colors of Amestris, it reminded him of Ishval where he had gone a handful of times the sea of orange, reds, and purples of the peoples’ clothing. Instead of stalling on the ladder, this time he quickly pulled himself up onto the dock. Children were running around and weaving themselves through the mass up ahead, while evading the adults and chastisements sent their way. People behind their stands selling their various goods and fresh produce- the colorful vibrancy of it was calling out to him to see what new curiosities he would find. Following the group, Miles felt an internal joy when the wooden boards underneath his shoes were replaced by the cobbled, weathered stones of the streets. He was back on _terra firma!_

Distracted by his silent awe, he almost crashed into Henschel when he failed to notice the group had come to a complete stop.

“There is business to be done. Gentlemen, your instructions have already been given. I don’t need to remind you that maximum efficiency is what I always expect. We leave at sundown.”

With her piece said, she turned around and continued her way leaving them to their assigned tasks. The men quickly dispersed, leaving Miles to flick his head around at the thought that they trusted him so easily to not abandon them and escape or maybe being yelled at by the captain was a more frightening option for not completing their tasks. His roaming eyes caught a drawing on a board that was tacked outside of a building; the closer he got to it, he recognized the familiar wanted poster. It was hers, the artist had made a decent enough sketch but lacked the minuscule details that could only come from being up close with her. He was flabbergasted, as he noticed that was not the only flier about her that was pasted on the walls. The more he looked around there was one on every other wall and yet there was no attempt from anyone, no declaration of recognition, no cries of _‘there she is, arrest her!’_ He simply looked at her receding figure as it weaved through the crowds, totally at ease, as if she wasn’t a wanted pirate.

There was a few of Buccaneer as well, although his were grossly overexaggerated making him look like a cross between a bear and an ogre, Miles for a quick second considered ripping one off and lording the drawing over him. He would have had a grand time laughing at the man but… Miles was escaping after all. His brows furrowed at that thought, the sure certainty that he would never lay eyes upon them again if he was successful in leaving. In the few months he had spent with them, there was a comradery between him and the men of the ship that he felt had a bit of a familial feel to it. A far warmer welcome and time than the last several years he had worked at Lord Raven’s estate, made that much easier with every meal he cooked that won their hearts. The easiness with which he spoke with them compared to the restrictive atmosphere that was always present in the estate, maybe that was it, despite some of the men holding different jobs and ranks they never exactly enforced. While in the mansion, the people that worked there had a caste system with the employees that worked outside placed at the very bottom. Now that he was thinking about it, going back to work at the mansion- although he didn’t know who would inherit the lands and wealth since he’d never heard of Lord Raven having any close relatives- seemed like a bleak place to return to; having to adhere to the orders of the very people that so loudly and blatantly sneered at those that were lower than them in a daily basis.

Buccaneer had treated him as an old friend that Miles began to believe it, an effortless friendship that he had quickly made.

The captain, on the other hand, remained an elusive mystery.

During their Sundays, Miles felt the atmosphere had steadily changed between them. Any tidbit of herself that she shared, Miles treasured; by now, knowing that she did not easily reveal pieces of herself with just anyone. The more Miles learned only lead to more unresolved questions. He knew she had siblings despite her saying no before, he was certain of it. When he would speak about both of his and the dynamics of his relationships with them, the situations and fights they went through would always bring a small smile and a faraway look on her face. She learned how to fence as a child, which Miles quickly concluded to the high probability that her family was extremely wealthy. What other possibility for a child being able to have a private fencing tutor? It was easy to picture her in one of the delicate dresses worn by the ladies of polite society…like she _belonged_ there, in that affluent world those below them so ardently wished for. She was a complicated person. Despite being a harsh pirate to the world, she had a rigid code of honor that Miles was impressed that she not only had but enforced on her men as well; a code that they strongly followed because they loved and respected their captain. He didn’t understand the small throb his heart gave at the thought of never seeing her again.

Straightening his resolve, Miles made his way to the stands towards the fresh produce, he didn’t check to see if any of the men had lingered behind; now, he had to make it appear like he was doing what he was supposed to. Or intended to pretend, perusing the fruits and vegetables was like a chef’s paradise to new potential dishes and his curiosity made him take a slower pace. He was fascinated by heaps of a fruit that was red and covered in thin spikes; the man, whose stall it belonged to, was cautiously cutting out the juicy, white flesh with experience and offered some for people to entice them to buy. Miles was certainly intrigued. He walked closer and when offered some, he grabbed the small piece of fruit and sampled it himself.

It was sweeter than he imagined and so refreshing! The flavor hitting parts of his taste buds yet tested. Miles loved it and spiraled a dozen questions in his mind. _Could he cook it? If so, would the flavor sharpen or dull down to a pale version of its own self, making it useless? Mixed with other fruits, would it add a new twist to old recipes, corrupting them into an even more sinfully delicious flavor?_

Miles didn’t even know how to begin to ask the man what the name of the fruit was, he wasn’t sure if the man knew Amestrian.

“What is this,” Miles began, waiting for understanding to show in the man’s face. The man simply smiled and handed him another piece to try. Grabbing the piece with a polite ‘thank you’, he pointed at it. “The fruit. What’s it called-?”

“The man’s deaf, Miles.”

_Where did Buccaneer come from?_ Miles turned his attention to him, internally cursing himself for being so cavalier with the first opportunity presented to slip away.

“He can read lips though, right?” 

Miles needed to know the name of the fruit. He was dying from the lack of knowledge about this new and magical food.

“Kind of hard to since he doesn’t know Amestrian either.” Buccaneer gave a snort. “It’s called _koklevé_.”

“ _Koklevé_.” Miles repeated, chanting it a few more times in his mind. He ardently hoped that he wouldn’t forget it.

“More often its known as _kok_.” At this, Buccaneer gave a smile that was more reminiscent of a naughty school boy. “Funniest shit, since it sounds like coc-”

“Yes, I get it.” Miles cut him off, leave it to Buccaneer to state the _obvious_ dirty joke.

“Hey Norm!” Buccaneer called to one of the other crew members that was making his way towards them. Miles decided to slip away at his next time statement of ‘Want some cock?’

With Buccaneer occupied, he continued to another stall with a mental reminder to go back and purchase some _koklevés_ before they left. This one was filled with stacks of jars and bags of spices, the first thing he did was buy some of the spices that he knew they had run out of with the money given to him by the captain. He took his time studying the spices that he had never seen before, wondering about their potential.

“This one right here,” The woman pointed at the one to her left and in a thick, pleasant accent. “Add a few dashes of it to any plate will give it a good kick.”

Miles conjured up the mental imagery of sprinkling more than a dash on the captain’s plate, wondering if her pride, would leave her with a red face as she continued eating- not letting him get the best of her or would she drain the contents of her glass for some relief before gutting him with her sword. A good prank would be worth a swinging sword, at least he would die laughing.

“Wait up, Miles!”

The small smile that had formed slipped from his face at hearing Buccaneer’s voice. It returned when the man handed him a burlap sack, opening it to find a dozen of the small, spiky red fruit; but any gratitude shown evaporated at Buccaneers next words of ‘yah, forgot your cocks.’

“Seriously?” Miles groaned; had his hands not been full of fruits and spice he would have facepalmed.  
“What? It’s funny.” Buccaneer defended.

“To a thirteen-year-old.”

Their bickering continued as they continued down the street. In the back of Miles’ mind, he wondered if he would ever be left alone again while on land, it did not seem likely. From his peripheral view, he noticed that Buccaneer was never too far off from where he was, making him wonder if he had been truly left alone in the beginning at all. A notion that left him discontent since it seemed he never had a chance to slip away. He looked around and didn’t see a place he could exactly run and hide until the coast was clear. The throngs of people would help unless he got stuck between the masses. He weighed the pros and cons and decided that a better opportunity would come; the last thing he needed was a failed attempt that would only result in more restrictions to him.

With his arms full of bags and burlap sacks, he trudged back to the dock with Buccaneer right behind him. He placed the stuff neatly into one of the empty crates they had left there earlier, the small boat nowhere to be seen. The sun’s rays had decreased in intensity as the afternoon had shifted to early evening. Miles had run out of time and he did not know if they would anchor at another place soon, he honestly did not know what to feel about that notion. It was complicated.

“Boat should be on its way back.” The sailor, Magnus- if Miles recalled correctly, said as he watched them stow away the supplies.

“It’s fine.” Buccaneer said. “Let’s go grab a pint, yeah, Miles?”

Miles only nodded at another opportunity to remain ashore for an hour or so more. As they made their way back to the cobble-stoned streets, Miles realized that they were heading in the same direction as the captain had gone a few hours before. A few twists and turn and they were in a quieter section of the town, leaving behind the raucous merriment of people behind.

“Her posters are all over the port?” Miles asked, unexpectedly.

“Yeah, so?”

Miles gave him an exasperated look and with a huff Buccaneer relented.

“The people here don’t really care.”

Miles raised his eyebrows at that, the reward not being a small amount to be so willingly ignored.

“Ok, its more like it also benefits them.” He explained and throwing in a casual shrug. “We pirate off big cargo ships from other countries, so helps them in the trading competition overall.”

“Oh.”

They arrived at a seedy little tavern. Moss heavily imbedded in some of the cracks of the wooden boards. The sign had big, letterings of the Hikoan language, ‘the Green Dragon’ written in Amestrian and all of it ensnared by the drawing of a scaly green and white wyvern. There were men at every other table, but Buccaneer made no intention to sit in one of the empty ones instead heading towards the back and up the stairs to another area of the building. It led to a corridor with a door at the end, inside were four of the other men that had come with them on one side nursing some pints of beer. On the other side was the captain, leaning with her arms crossed on the windowsill, and a man whom Miles had never seen before sitting at a table closest to her. He was dark of hair, and when they entered the room, his emerald eyes focused on them upon their entrance. A bundle of letters and papers tied together with a bit on string were in front of him along with two glasses of beer.

“Buccaneer.” The mysterious man greeted, directing his gaze upon Miles. “New ship mate, I see.”

“More like hostage,” Miles corrected.

Seeing the captain roll her eyes at Mile’s comment, the man returned his attention back to him with an amusing smile on his face; he stood up and extended a hand in greeting. “Interesting, Amos Abernathy.”

Miles grabbed the man’s hand and gave a firm shake. “Miles.”

Offering them to take a seat, the man remained standing and went over to pour two more glasses for them, sliding them their way.

“How long will you guys be anchored here?” Amos asked, glancing back at the captain.

“Just for another hour.” She replied, maintaining her gaze on the view from the window.

“Ah, so soon?”

“Unexpected events have occurred, its better to be out at sea.”

Miles watched them converse from the top of his pint of beer. There was a familiarity between the two, suggesting they knew each other well. The thought of that brought a sense of dread in the pit of his stomach and he did not know why; he couldn’t fathom why the thought of her with someone set him in a forlorn mood. The sound of Buccaneer’s empty glass meeting the table, made him avert his eyes from the other two.

“Whew,” Buccaneer exhaled. “That’s some good brew you have, Amos!”

“Well, I do try.”

It would have been a humble statement, if Amos didn’t have a smirk stretched upon his face; confidence exuding from him. He well _damn_ knew he made excellent beer.

“Tch, such modesty.” The captain commented, which earned a hearty laugh from Amos.

“Modesty was never enforced in our upbringing.”

“Got that right.” The captain stepped forward to take a swig of her pint.

The hour passed in easy merriment but left Miles in a sour mood. He was relieved when the captain announced it was time to head out. With good-natured groans from the others, they slowly started making their way down. Miles gave Buccaneer a dangerous glare when the man gave him one of his infamous ‘hearty’ pats on the back.

“We’ll wait downstairs for you, Captain.” Buccaneer announced, grabbing Miles and hustled them both out of there, leaving Amos and the captain alone.

The last Miles saw of the two, was Amos rising from his chair and enveloping the captain in a tight hug. The sight of it making him want to throw back all the beer he had just drank.


	6. Running Through a Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the exceedingly long wait but my family needed me. Hope you guys enjoy the new chapter.

Miles grimaced at the burp he released; bringing a nasty burn to travel up his throat and into the back of his mouth. The sensation hit his nose and he attempted to cough it away while he and Buccaneer waited outside the tavern for the captain. Not even five minutes later had passed when she stepped out and regarded them, as if to ask ‘why they were still there’ while the others had already started the walk back to the docks although it was more of a childish race between the men that Buccaneer and Miles opted out of joining.

A quick shrug from Buccaneer that was reciprocated with a roll of her eyes and a dismissive look at them cut whatever question she had on her mind.

The blistering heat of the day had fully settled down. Evening held a lighter warmth, the sun almost done with its descent, leaving a bit of light to illuminate their way. Twilight would soon hit and then convert to night but for now the pale leftovers of the day enveloped them. Their walk was held in quiet companionship, none of them feeling the need to fill the silence between them. The captain’s usual brisk pace was slowed and the two followed right next to her; Miles savoring the firmness of the ground, conscious of it soon being replaced by the swaying rolls of the sea again. He had failed. Miles focused on the air, the warmth of it as he inhaled every time. It lingered there in his lungs, settled deeply within his chest; it almost felt like he was suffocating especially when it had been midday.

Yes, a heat so unlike the one in Ishval. Miles sidestepped an uneven stone on the street, his thoughts wandering back to his first trip there.

_He recalled that his parents had done the arduous task of traveling with three young children, to show them the homeland of their paternal grandfather. Miles could only recollect a few memories of that first vacation. What he did remember was their grandfather, waiting for them at the stop where the buggies and wagons would be hired to get people to the train station that was in the town over._

_Miles had been holding on to one of their father’s hand, the other by his sister. He felt the sudden loss of his father’s hold on him as his dad rushed to a man of similar stature as him. They greeted each other with so much warmth that it brought a smile to Mile’s face. That affection was redirected to them, where they were waiting patiently as father and son finished their tender reunion. They made their way towards the four of them and Miles took note of the similarities between his father and grandfather._

_His grandfather was taller than his dad by an inch or so, and while they sported the same striking, white hair and tawny complexion, his father was a bit fairer due to not living where the sun was as harsh as in Ishval. Their eye color was different as well, his dad sporting eyes the color of honeycomb, a beautiful honey-brown he inherited from Miles’ grandmother. His grandfather, on the other hand, busy welcoming his mother and little brother, who was nestled in her arms, finally crouched down to greet him and his sister, had eyes as bright and red as his. Miles was the only one of the three to inherit them, his brother and sister taking more after his mother’s side. Miles felt different since he was the only one, and people frequently stared whenever they went out on an outing- the obvious outlier of the family unit. Where they lived, it was rare to see Ishvalans but the closer they got to Ishval, the more Miles saw people who had similar physical traits as him. It didn’t matter to him though since they were not people related to them and yet it still made him feel more of an outcast with his family when they sat in the moving locomotive. Little Miles was afraid. He wondered if his parents would leave him one day with these people. A worry that never escaped his lips, that would quickly be dispelled when looking at the love blatantly expressed in his grandfather’s eyes, as he introduced himself._

_“Hello, little ones. I’m your rahivovpa, your grandfather.”_

Various other moments he had had with his grandpa flitted through his mind. The memories of him bringing a small, bitter smile to his lips, an expression that didn’t go unnoticed by the Ice Queen. Miles, unaware, kept looking straight ahead, unknowingly ignoring her as they walked.

The solitude broke when sharp, banging sounds broke out. It stopped all three of them in their tracks. The noise reminded Miles of the Xingese fire displays, the ricochets of small cracklings and booms that came after the dazzling displays of glittering lights. The merriment and awe that followed those shows did not occur in this occasion since it was followed by cacophony of shouts and screams filling the air. A shared sense of wariness between the three sent all of them speeding towards the docks; weaving their way between the fleeing crowd, people leaving their wares for safety. Miles’ heart was pounding heavily in his chest, but there was also a sense of calm within him, his mind sensing that it was vital to remain calm- to assess and then decide what the next move should be, a sure sign he was getting quite used to this chaotic world of pirates. He let out a grunt when he collided into a portly man, losing his bearing for a quick second, not knowing which way was where until a firm hand wrapped around his upper arm and wrestled him behind a stack of crates.

Miles grabbed his jostled eyewear and decided to remove them, opting in not having to worry over them should they fall. He focused on the person that grabbed him and saw that it had been the captain, who held a finger up in silence to him; his heart gave a little fluttering at the nearness between them. Unbothered to see if he would listen, she turned back to peer around the wooden boxes. Miles also noticed that Buccaneer was across from them hiding behind a building, his only hand resting on top of his unholstered flintlock.

With some caution, Miles looked over from the other side to see what had them hiding behind the boxes. The exchange of gunfire had ceased before they arrived and the vibrant market that was full of people hours ago was eerily quiet. Fruits and vegetables were strewn all over the ground, some crushed with their juices staining the cobbled stone, ceramic dishes broken into tiny pieces, and other wares broken beyond recognition. It was all a chaotic mess. The men that, a few moments ago, had been with them at the tavern were surrounded and bounded. A few sported bruised and bloodied faces, a good indication that they had put up a decent fight against the men that held them captives. The barrels that they had taken, containing the ale made by Abernathy, were for their fellow mates on the ship were crushed. Broken bits were left of the barrels and frothy remains of the liquid were the only evidence that remained, leaving wet, dark stains on the wooden boards of the pier. And off to the right, to Miles’ horror were two bodies, of men he had spent a little over two months with now deceased. He couldn’t see who they were, only able to view the large pools of blood underneath each of them. He did not need to look at the captain to know that she was furious.

Miles took note of the men that had them trapped. Bedecked in cream trousers and midnight blue coats, with a green armband on the left with the Amestrian national emblem and a purple on the right, with the sigil of the Ouroboros Trading Company. He looked beyond the dock, to see the ship that they had escaped from the day prior now stationed in the waters. Miles frowned, the only way to this side of the waters was either through the treacherous strait they had taken or going around the large body of land to the right of the Gulagna, an endeavor that would’ve taken a little over a month to traverse.

He was certain that they must have recently acquired a person with knowledge or experience to go through it since it was something that Lord Raven and the company would have boasted about it. It would have given them the edge against their competitors, a passage only undertaken by fleeing pirates and daring merchant ships, there was countless stories of men losing their wealth and investments from sinking ships; men who were in the last strings of their family fortune and burdened with overbearing debts that hoped for a quick profit to save them.

Miles turned back to the captain who was in a silent argument with Buccaneer. The face of quiet frustration hinted to Miles that they had been forming a plan to help the men, one that by gestures that he was making, a tight-lipped Buccaneer did not agree with at all.

With a wave of finality, the captain switched her focus to Miles leaving Buccaneer to stew in his anger.

“I’m heading that way.” The Ice Queen gestured off to the left, in the general direction of what was once the crowded marketplace. “Beyond there, begins the jungle, in the direction of where the ship is anchored. Helps to distract the ones that will follow and to also give us more time to prepare ourselves against the _Sloth_. Buccaneer will take care of setting the men free.”

“And if you don’t make it?” Miles asked. The ship had been anchored behind a small landmass that was connected by a thin isthmus. While she could remain hidden in the thickness of the jungle on the shore, between the mainland and the small island there was only open space dusted with a few trees here and there before condensing again. The risk of being out in the open could result in an easy shot if the trading company had good marksmen in the group that would follow her. The _Indolent Sloth_ was not anchored far away surely the men onboard would see the commotion on the port. Two things could come from that, more men sailing to Buccaneer and the men or worse, the actual ship attacking the shore.

“Our chances are better when there are two people running.”

Miles’ brain took a second to grasp what she said.

_Oh Ishvala._

“You better not trip.” She warned.

Not waiting for a response, she grabbed one of his wrists to get him to focus. The captain peered over to the circle of men, who were occupied in interrogating her bounded crew. Pulling away from the crates, they stealthily scuttled behind stall, crates, and carts until they were a good distance from them just enough for them to always be at their heels. A tantalizing temptation to continue running after them, the perfect diversion.

They were crouched behind the last stall when the captain looked him over.

“Ready?”

Miles was not ready for this but as he looked at the road ahead, enveloped by a thick jungle on both sides, he knew he would never be. He wondered briefly if he could simply remain there and explain to the shipmates of the _Sloth_ that there was a mistake- that he was not part of her crew due to his own volition. A wistful thought, that he knew would only end up with a bullet riddled body. Miles nodded and reciprocated her gaze. “Ready.”

With his confirmation they slowly stood up, her eyes remained on his as they made their way to the beginning of the open road. She unholstered her pistol from her hip and shot a bullet straight into the air. The noise was loud and clear as it rang through the air, they looked over in the direction of the port where the trading company had at first crouched to escape any more incoming bullets. Miles and the captain began to slowly step back as they watched the men look around, spotting them in the distance. The moment they recognized her; they made their way after them.

They both turned and broke into a run. Miles knew with every step he took was one further from getting caught. He felt his heart, beating a heavy rhythm and wondered if one of them would be his last. The sound of guns going off chilled the blood in his veins as well as the spike of dirt that spread through the air where a bullet landed to their right, they began to zig-zag to avoid the bullets chasing at their heels. He looked back, not an action that he should be doing but he wanted to know, wanted to see how many followed them. How many would he need to evade to live? Six, seven, _eight_?

Despite the road curving to the left, the captain shot straight ahead into the dense jungle with Miles right behind. Weaving around trees and vines, as another hail of bullets could be heard. Bits of bark flew in the air. His lungs were burning with the physical exertion, but he made sure to have a tree behind him and the men after them, the jungle was thickening making it harder to trek through and he focused on where he placed his feet, as he continued on. He speculated on how long they ran, with the adrenaline in pumping through his veins, everything felt fast and slow all jumbled up. He felt every step he took, the way his booted feet would scrape against roots and dried leaves, every branch, vines, and other things he pushed away with his hands; it felt like eternity. 

Too focused on not stumbling, he collided with the captain who had slowed her pace. He grabbed her to stabilize her balance and as they stood there, they noticed the silence. No rustling, no heavy footsteps after them. This was the first time he did not enjoy such hushed tranquility. Miles realized that he still had the captain wrapped in his arms, with every heave of his chest and his breath fanning against her forehead, her body pressed so close to his. He stiffened and when looked down he released her as he noticed the frown on her face looking up at him.

“Uh, sorry.” He took a step back and placed a hand to his chest to ease the rapid cadence of it. Miles did not know if it was still beating fast because of the run or because of his proximity to her and he knew this was not the time to think about those kinds of things.

“We should continue,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth in wariness behind them.

Miles took a few steps forward to continue when they heard a small rustling behind them. Something was whipping past the large leaves; a large thud could be heard at whatever was thrown hit a tree and then he watched as a small metal ball rolled a few feet away from them. Miles recognized the weaponry and he let the horror be in open display on his face, a readable expression on his face, that the captain asked him what was wrong. Instead he grabbed her hand and started charging ahead to get away from it, as far as they possibly could.

It was a metal ball that he had hoped to never see in his life again.

_The arrival of Captain Mustang to Lord Raven’s estate sent the servitude into abuzz. Much of it coming from the female staff at seeing such a handsome man. Captain Mustang had served in the war against Ishval and after it, chose to become the captain of the Firesnap for the Ouroboros Trading Company. He felt indifferent to the man’s visitation to the seaside abode, or at least he thought he did. Miles had felt a fury within him when he saw the man step off the carriage and realized that whatever feelings he had thought he buried long ago, came crashing back up. Emerson was a true friend in deterring him from doing anything foolish. The days Mustang would wander with his blonde assistant by his side, Miles focused on the plants instead or would hide in the greenhouse that contained the plants of Ishval; a gentle balm for his heart._

_Miles was working on trimming the bushes when Lord Raven and Mustang were doing a weapon demonstration. The blonde man always by the captain’s side, ever loyal; there were a few instances when the man had traversed the gardens by himself catching Miles off guard once one morning when he was picking some of the vegetables for the supper later that evening. From his quick observation, the man was, dare he say it, pretty. He had feminine features, but Miles did not dwell looking at his face, more focused on his work to avoid any questions that would rise from his odd choice in eyewear fashion on such a cloudy day._

_One of them was a metal ball that slowly combusted projecting a large explosion when they had tossed it. The large chunks of earth that was blasted away was dangerous, in an enclosed area it could be fatal. Of course, the demonstration went further to a live target. Miles had commended the captain for at least trying to deter Lord Raven from it._

_“It’s not necessary, Lord Raven. From this run, we can see the damage that this weapon can be capable of, there is no need to try it on an actual target.” The dark-haired man said through a tight smile that exuded nothing but detest at the suggestion the lord of the estate brought up._

_“Nonsense, young captain.” Lord Raven gave out a small laugh. “We need to see the damage it can do on the flesh.”_

_The pig that was tied close to the next ball never stood a chance._

_Despite the grotesque scene and the chilling cries of the dying pig, Captain Mustang and his assistant remained stoic with clenched fists at their sides._

_“This would have been perfect in the war.” Lord Raven commented, looking at the remains of the animal with detached coolness. “Would it not, Captain Mustang?”_

_“Indeed, Lord Raven.”_

_The look Mustang had shared with his assistant was anything but disgust._

_“Come now, let’s return to my study. We have plenty to discuss.”_

_Before they left, the blonde man looked back with a look of contrition in his face. He was surprised when his gaze turned to Miles who had stopped trimming the plant at some point during the presentation, focused on the horror before his eyes. With a nod of solidarity, the man turned and left to follow the other two back into the mansion._

The loud boom and the force for something so small threw them several yards away. Smoke rose from the epicenter and his ears were ringing as he slowly got up to check himself for any injuries, when he noticed he was fine. His relief doubled when he saw the captain was brushing away some dirt and foliage off herself.

“What was that?” She asked, turning to glare at him. “You knew what that was.”

“Nothing good.” He got up quickly and grabbed her hand again, noticing the resoluteness in her eyes. The question would come up again in a more appropriate setting, where they were not running for their lives. They sped off again. Sure enough, a second one was detonated but were able to remain on their feet this time. He let go of her hand as soon as he felt her tugging and continued running side by side. They hopped over a fallen tree, watching where their feet landed simultaneously pushing the knotted vines and huge, expansive leaves out of their path.

“This way.” She ordered, veering to the right. “We’re almost to the shi-”

She never finished her sentenced as she stumbled. Miles turned to her and saw a small pool of blood on her side, just above the right of her hip. Her hand immediately pressed upon it to staunch the wound, her teeth biting into her lip as an outlet for any pain she was feeling. Miles quickly ran to her side, a nervous dread knotting in his belly. The panic that he felt inside did not hinder his ability to think, as he helped to ease her back up, running to gain a bit of distance from their pursuers before quickly hiding behind a tree, just as another bullet whizzed by.

Miles peeked around the tree to peer through the available space between the vegetation; sure enough, two of the soldiers were heading in their general direction with swords in their hands instead of stopping and reloading their guns. A boon for them unless the others appeared. For several seconds, he wondered where the others from the search party where but turned his attention to the wounded woman by his side when he felt her shifting next to him. The captain had freed her sword from its sheath and looked ready to die fighting, but he understood the reason. They needed to stop them before they head to shore, for they would spot _Fort Briggs_ and run back to their captain to warn them, a full-fledged battle between the ships was something she wanted to avoid but it was inevitable. The other detriment to that would be that they would run back and attack her men they had just captured. Either way, a fight between the two ships was sure to occur and with _Fort Briggs_ currently manned with a little over half her men, it would be a difficult one to win.

With great stillness, Miles slid down into a crouch as the rustling footsteps of the two men got closer to their vicinity. He grabbed a rock and before he could think twice, slipped the dagger that the captain kept sheathed in her boot into his other hand.

He gave her a gesture of where he was going to throw it, hopeful that it would give them the precious seconds needed to be able to catch them in surprise. At her nod, he glanced back at the two and saw they had stopped to listen where they would be. He threw the rock to their right and leaped out when they turned their attention to where the rock had hit. It was quick. Miles had never killed a man before but as he sliced the dagger across the man’s neck, he felt a piece of himself die along as well. He looked down at the body, watched the blood taint the leaves, dirt, and white sand red.

Miles felt empty but he knew that he did not prefer the other option, of him, being the one on the ground.

“You know how to fight.”

Miles turned his attention to her, she regarded him with a look he could not decipher. As if, he evolved into a whole different person before her very eyes and she did not know what to think of him now.

“Sort of.” Miles evaded, focused on their surroundings. He was worried that the others would come out at any moment. “Where do you think the others went?”

“Probably a good half a mile away.” She answered, her penetrating gaze remaining on him. “They’re most likely doing a sweep on us.”

Miles did not know what that was but as he focused on her wounded, he detested the red spot that had grown on her willowy, cream shirt. She was pale and he was certain that fatigue was settling in. She was weak, bleeding out, and needed to head to her ship quickly. Standing there with the bloodied dagger in his hand, an epiphany hit him.

He could do _it_. Leave. Run from here. _Forget her and Fort Briggs._

Run away from the madness of this skirmish into the jungle until it was safe enough to come out.

Judging from the look on his face, he knew that she had reached the same conclusion as him. The captain could see it easily on his face. She wearily watched him, one hand on her bloody hip and the other on her bloody sword. She would not give chase; they both knew it. She had a higher precedence in the safety and well-being of her men who were currently in danger.

They stood there, facing each other; red eyes meeting blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Also a thank you piece for that nice afterword. :)


End file.
